


Rewrite of the FOTC

by Luckwearer



Series: The Stubbornness of Hobbits [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: But I'm to lazy to write them all here as well, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Nobody dies/everybody lives, Other, So just look at the main story for all the tags that apply to this fic, The main story has more tags, time-travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5226602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luckwearer/pseuds/Luckwearer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remember when I said that I would not abandon this story? Well, I did not abandon it, but the rewrite is going very slowly(real live). So I decided to add the first (and maybe some more) chapters of the rewrite as a part in the series so you have something to read before I post the whole rewrite of ch1-ch6 on the original work.</p><p>(Summary of "the fellowship of the company" of which this is a hopefully improved rewrite: Bilbo Baggins wakes up in Bag End like the young, respectable hobbit he used to be. He is determined to change fate. But Bilbo did not expect other people to come back as well, really he should not be that suprised.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rewrite of the FOTC

**Author's Note:**

> So here is the rewrite of the prologue, once I've finished the rewrite I'll delete this part in the series and post the whole rewrite on part one of the series.
> 
> A big thank you to Musume_no_Suoh for betaing and providing feedback.
> 
> (Very long explanation that you can just skip)  
> I know that it took me nearly a whole year but real live has been absolutely hectic. School has been far more demanding than usual seeing as I'm in the pre-exam class which is considered the hardest and maybe even the most important class. Additionally to that, I've just started my first job, so I have no time on saturdays to write and I'm partaking in my first series of archery competitions on most sundays, but I still have my homework which results in nearly no weekends. Add to that the fact that we have lost two very close family members in that year, and you can understand that I was not in the right mind to write.

Bilbo woke to golden rays of sunlight falling onto his eyes. Huh, normally the elves would close his curtains while he slept, opening them when it was about time for second breakfast. They said it was for his own good, that his body (and mind) needed the rest. In the end, Bilbo had grudgingly accepted his new sleeping schedule, though the fond twinkle in his eyes betrayed how he truly felt about the fussing of the immortal beings.

His reminiscing, however, was rudely interrupted by the joyous giggling of fauntlings. A soft smile played over the Hobbit's lips, before his expression turned somewhat confused. Why would there be fauntlings in Rivendell? He remembered the occasional Tooks and Brandybucks visiting, but bringing ones so young with them seemed a reckless thing to do, even for the most adventurous of Hobbits. Deciding to sate his curiosity as well as his grumbling belly, he stood up, slowly blinking his eyes to clear them from the haziness of sleep.

And blinking a bit more at the sight that greeted him.

A comfy bedchamber full of wooden furniture and home made quilts, a small shelf filled with little bits and pieces, an armoire with the corner of a dark burgundy sleeve poking through the door that was slightly ajar,[yes, I meant a armoire, but did not know it's specific name, corrected now :)]and a perfectly round door, like a porthole, in the wall facing the bed Bilbo was currently sitting on.

He knew that the door opened on to a tube-shaped hall, like a tunnel, with paneled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs.

He knew how the tunnel would wind deep into the hill in which the smial was built. He knew this and so much more, for how could he forget the home in which he had spent 110 years of his live.

Bag End.

The question Bilbo would like to have answered, however, was not where, but how. If this was a dream, it was far more vivid than his usual ones, and also the first time that he thought he was dreaming during the dream itself.

Bilbo sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, giving it a light tug. It was an old habit that he could not shake himself of, even when his curls turned white and wispy. He was therefore quite convinced that he would have gone bald years ago, if his aging limbs had not protested the motion vehemently.

His joints, however, did not creak with age when he raised his arm to his soft and bouncy curls, which should, by all means, be limp and dry. Now that he noticed that particular fact, he also became aware of the distinct lack of pain in his joints, actually he was not bothered in the slightest by any of the problems that came with old age, whether mental or physical.

A nagging suspicion began to build that maybe, just maybe, this was not a dream.

He walked to the looking-glass to see his image and to further confirm his suspicions. Yes, the hobbit that looked back at him was certainly not 138 years old, more like fifty. He lifted his hand, watching his reflection do the exact same thing avidly.

Bilbo hoped that his second suspicion was proved wrong, but that hope was quite small indeed. He pinched his arm and winced at the resulting jolt of pain.

The final test then.

He raised a trembling hand to his shirt collar and opened his buttons one by one, revealing nothing but soft and unblemished skin. His throat was bare too, save for a slight tan-line. A strangled gasp passed his lips when his most prized possession was not where it should be, but he nevertheless reached up to touch his hair in a last desperate attempt to find it. It proved to be futile though, his curls were all cut evenly and respectably unadorned. No. No, no, nononononono...

Bilbo's trembling legs gave out and he collapsed to the floor, not even noticing the pain of the impact. A soft keening whine escaped his throat, followed by another and another, harsh sobs slowly replacing his breath, his eyes prickling with unshed tears.

He closed his eyes, letting the tears stream down his face as his whole body shook with the force of his wrecked sobs.

In that moment he knew one thing for sure, that this was most certainly. Not. A. Dream.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it was worth the wait. And I don't mind feedback or if you ask me to "please update" or something similar, because contrary to some authors it motivates me to actually write faster.


End file.
